


Our Lady of the Underground

by karrenia_rune



Category: Gentleman Bastard Sequence - Scott Lynch
Genre: Big Bang Challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-05
Updated: 2018-04-05
Packaged: 2019-04-16 18:49:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14171271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/karrenia_rune/pseuds/karrenia_rune
Summary: Life in Camorr can be difficult and treacherous at the best at times, even when one belongs to the notorious and gang, the Gentlemen Bastards. Then, one day they manage to wrangle an invite to one of the most sought-after masquerade balls of the year; it would appear things are looking up. A mysterious letter sends Locke and Jean into the catacombs beneath the city and into more dangerous currents than they could have imagined, but what does this mysterious person want with them and are they willing to do so?





	Our Lady of the Underground

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Art for Our Lady of the Underground](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14222592) by [Shuufleur](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shuufleur/pseuds/Shuufleur). 



Disclaimer: The Gentlemen Bastards sequence is the original creation of Scott Lynch as are the characters who appear here and the verse they inhabit; they are only 'borrowed' for the purposes of the story. Notes: A shout-out goes out to my beta reader, the ice sculpture and my artist, shuufleur who were both fantastic!

 

“Our Lady of the Underground” by Karrenia-Rune

In the Old Tongue the church was called Nuestra Duenna de Los Lagrimas or Our Lady of Tears, or possibly Sorrows, depending on how one looked at it.

Jean Tannen looked at a saw a jumble of square blocks situated at one corner of a run-down square that had once seen better days. The building was taller than all the other buildings and homes around it. Its spire rose into the gray skies with its golden point fired at the top with the last rays of the setting sun. 

While scoping out the place a few days back, Jean had unearthed a middle-aged man who had once worked in the archives had told him how before it was a church it had once been a school.

An uncanny incident one day hailed as a miracle; an oil painting of the patron saint began to shed actual wet, salty and sorrowful tears out of its painted eyes, and the powers that be have seen fit to convert the school into a church.

Now it was mostly a ruin. 

Jean had not pressed the older man for more details, sensing that it was a complicated and sensitive issue for the fellow. 

For his part the old man seemed well inclined to be left alone. The man whose name Locke never learned was only animated when he'd been talking about the 'good old days,' clutching a gold coin in his horny fist, watery blue eyes alight with the glow of memories and maybe something else.

After that, he became a faded man in faded clothes blending into the poor quarters of the city.

As Locke looked up to where the twins were perched like a couple of gargoyles leering over the heads of the humorless carved saints, he wondered if anyone cared what happened here.

The place was mostly a ruin anyway so he figured; that no one would mind much that their movements while they had been jostling for favorable sent tiny showers of rock down onto the yard below. 

They had wanted a couple of bows but Locke had talked them out of it. It was not as if this was going to be a big fight, or as they had an undeclared war with other rival gangs. If that had been the case then it would stand to reason to have the advantage of higher ground and allow Calo and Galdo cross-bows. As matters stood, they were there to act as look-outs, nothing more. The twins had protested but had eventually relented to Locke's decision.

Meanwhile he and Jean were ready to engage a local gang that had been making unwise bolder and bolder forays onto their turf.

It was not that was looking for a fight but it was the principle of the thing: Locke fingered the knives in his belt and Jean held his quarter-staff at the ready.

Jean stole a glance up at the gibbous moon nestled in a bank of clouds and hoped it they would have enough light to go by. It was at that precise moment that he heard the hoot of snow owl; the twins’ signal of the other gang's approach.

Just then half a dozen figures emerged from around the side of the buildings at the far end of the plaza square armed with a Hodge-podge of weapons, clubs, knives, and one carried a mace. Jean took a moment to study their faces, some fair, some dark, and none of them appeared old enough to shave. 

He idly wondered if this was what old Father Chains had seen when he had taken all of them in, including the twins and Sabetha.

"Bastards!" the apparent leader called out.

Stepping forward, Jean replied "That's us. You sure you want to do this?" He asked as he flexed his muscles.

"Let's get this over with. We don't want to hurt you, but if you force our hand..." he called out.

The leader nodded. "We ain't afraid of you, big man!" Take'em!" he cried out. 

They came forward splitting their numbers in half: three on the left, three on the right. 

Locke moved with sinuous grace and engaged the three on the right, his knives cutting through cloth and into the flesh beneath like a barber's razor tearing through silk. 

Jean, for all his bulk, was still surprisingly quick and efficient, able to block blows from opponents wielding cudgels until they either splintered apart or were dropped onto the ground.

The cries of hurt and anger split echoed and echoed in the small square. Jean for all his bulk good surprisingly quickly and efficiently, blocking blows from those wielding cudgels until they either splintered apart or were dropped onto the ground until the only ones left standing were Jean, Locke and the leader.

Jean's own weapon was against the leader's weapon and he placed a calculated pressure on it "You'd better yield, kid. If you know what's good for you."

"I, I...." he stammered.

Locke grinned. "Decide quickly."

Calo and Galdo had scurried down from their perch and had come to join them in the square, just in case. They were agitated and had worried lines etched into their identical brows. 

A ground-hugging mist rolled in reducing visibility to within a square of where they stood."Where did this come from?" Locke demanded.

The mist grew thicker and thicker and before he knew what was happening Locke could not even see his hands at the ends of his arms. Jean only stood a pace or two away, and he could not see him, or the kid.

"What the hell!" Jean exclaimed.

Flames leaped up from within the enshrouding curtain of mist, but strangely enough, the flames did not behave as fire should instead it boiled up from underneath the paving stones of the square, lifting them up and out.

When both the mist and flames had cleared, and the participants had all scattered. Locke went over to crouch over the scorched and blackened ground. 

Etched into the ground was a five-pointed star. He swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat. He felt a great cold that less to do from Canmore's early winter and more a visceral cold in the depths of his gut. 

The twins shrugged identical shrugs of incomprehension, and not a little fear. Jean, too was at a loss as to what had happened. He turned to Locke and saw there that Locke was afraid and angry; at the moment the anger was stronger. 

**

Then, one day they manage to wrangle an invite to one of the most sought after masquerade balls of the year; it would appear things are looking up.

Later that evening Jean found his best friend pacing up and down the underground where they kept their costumes and other equipment, and also where they often shared their communal meals. Locke Lamora was tall and spare and often he spent so much time planning heists, past, current and future ones that he often had to be chivvied into remembering to eat.

"Well, well, just a little ray of sunshine, today!"

"Oh, Jean," Locke muttered. "I didn't hear you come in. Did you say something?"

"Never mind. You know it's not really a good idea to brood so early in the day."

"I'm not brooding."

Jean shrugged shoulders that would not have been out of place on a bull and ran his hands through his straw-colored hair. "Let it go."

Locke stopped pacing and regarded his friend. 

"I can put out some feelers, ask around, see if anyone else has had any encounters with mist wraiths, ghosts, what do you make of it?"

"That's a good idea, you how I tend to fret..."

"Obsess is a better word."

"Okay, okay, obsess over things, but I think we should table that for the moment. There's a high society gala coming up and there's an opportunity there for us to make the big score."

Jean sighed. "A gala? What kind," his mind already turning to outfitting everyone. Please tell me we won't be requiring any more of that ghastly sealing wax we used to create those false mustaches."

"Why not?"

"Because it took days before I could no longer smell the gunk," Jean replied.

"Okay, so no to facial hair?" Locke asked playfully. "It's a masquerade ball. I manage to get my hands on an invitation to the manor home of Isabelle de Montague. I was thinking of going dressed as a sea captain."

"Okay, have it your way"

"You're not going to try and talk me out of it?" Locke asked with surprise coloring his voice; among the Gentlemen Bastards it was Jean's customary role to be the voice of reason whenever Locke took it into his hand to propose one of his wilder and more eccentric cons.

So when Jean did not rise to the bait right away, well, it gave Locke pause. “Are you okay?

“I'm fine."

"What, no arguments?"

No, not when I'm convinced that you've got your mind made up about this; it saves time."  
Do you think we have any of that gold braid left?" 

"What do you want with that stuff?" Locke asked.

Jean shrugged. "It would be nice to out-rank you. Besides, I think we should use some of the cotton paddings and use it to bulk up those skinny shoulders of yours." Jean replied as went over to the closet and began to rummage around in the carefully ordered and maintained wardrobe supply, looking for the gold braid.

He found it, then wondered if it would look better against a navy blue or white or perhaps green, or maybe even magenta. No, navy blue he decided; tossing a bundle of clothes over his shoulder towards Locke.

"What's wrong with my shoulders? Locke said, fingering the fabric of the red bolero jacket between the fingers of his right hand.

"They're too skinny." Jean replied as he pulled on the navy blue jacket over the white cotton shirt that went underneath it.

By that time Jean was finished dressing Locke was still wearing his worn doublet, hose and his worn pair of boots, but he had tried on the bolero jacket. 

Jean sighed and rubbed his hands through his thatch of wheat-colored hair. "You can't go to gala looking like that."

"Jean, I say this with the utmost regard for your opinion, however, you can really be a mother hen sometimes," Locke griped.

"Better that than we blow our cover. You know as well as I that the that who's who of Camorr's high society attend these things, and I suspect that some if not all of our enemies is too strong a word. Shall we call them our shit list, will be there."

"Jean Tannen!" Locke said attempting to put on an indignant and shocked look at the coarse language; however but the curve of his lips betrayed him. 

"When does this thing start?" Jean asked.

"Tomorrow night."

"Then I have until then to get you ready since it seems that you're not taking this seriously."

"Any idea what this Isabelle de Montague is like?" Locke asked.

"I hear that it was a marriage of convenience, but her husband has the ear of the Doge."

"High stakes, indeed," mused Locke.

"We're not going to do anything foolishly gallant or risky that might draw attention to ourselves; are we?" Jean asked.

"Locke tugged on the sleeves of the red jacket and tried on a pair of better kept black suede boots and did a funny little dance step that took him over to the mirror bolted to the wall of the closet to regard his reflection. "Who me?"

 

****  
The lamps of the lights from within a four-story edifice glimmered like a thousand pinpricks of stars. The moon shone down on the marble steps as Jean and Locke arrived at the entrance; their arrival going unnoticed among the mad crush of other invitation; and some coming on foot, for those who could afford it or rather preferred to appear that they could, disembarking from carriages or skiffs. 

A butler, a tall elegant man dressed in his customary colors of de Montague' family colors of mauve and gray and with silver buckles on his pointed-toe shoes greeted and announced every guest who came through the door; giving Vito Valente on behalf of Locke and Alexander Germain on Jean's. 

The butler took a glance at both their costumes and their invitations and then waved them in.

 

The gala masquerade ball was at the home of Isabelle de Montague where both the wine and the music flowed all night long; where costumed friends and enemies danced all night and whiled away the hours while the moonlight silvered the lead panes of the high windows and limbs of the hedge-animals in the courtyard gardens.

In Camorr those that could afford it seemed to hold an 'Event' almost constantly, so it was very important to make certain that one's event out-shone or out-did one's neighbors. Isabelle had spared no expense on this one.

 

The parquet floors were scrubbed and shone as if lit from within, the walls were teak and paneled.

The ballroom to which they were ushered by yet another functionary dressed in mauve and gray was huge. At one end the musicians played and at the other end were contoured couches for those guests who either chose to sit out various numbers or wished to take a break from the dancing. To one side of this were several long refectory tables behind which a bartender stood awaiting orders.

Some of the guests had already done so and stood in knots of two to four talking. Many wore some token of their hostess' house colors on their persons as if in a mute attempt to curry favor with the Baroness or perhaps in remembrance of her late husband who had recently passed away. 

If the gossip mongers were to be believed they were saying it had not been under natural circumstances, but something much more mysterious. 

Locke and Jean began to mingle with the crowd picking up glasses of wine from the bar and waiting for an opening in the dance numbers. Locke had to admit it was an excellent vintage and he wondered if the Baroness had it from her own wine cellar or had ordered it in. 

“Nice work if you can get it,” Locke muttered under his breath.

“Yeah, but don't forget why we're here,” Jean replied.

“Oh I have not."

“I don't see Nazca or any of her family here."

“Even if is it would hardly be seemly for a nice sophisticated lady like our hostess to be seen with riff-raff like notorious pirates,” Jean offered his friend a smile that would not have been out of place on the proverbial cat that ate the canary.

“Nah, but that's what disguises are for.”

A woman dressed as a fox came up and curtsied, “Would you care to dance, My Lord?” Her hands were sheathed in white silk gloves and her mask had pointed tips at the top. He could see that beneath the mask her eyes were green.

Locke handed his glass to a passing waiter and bowed to the girl, “I would love to. He linked arms with her and walked away, sparing a glance at Jean, "We'll meet up later. You have fun.

His friend scoffed and grinned. "Not too much fun."

Jean managed to last through four more measures before an opportunity arose to sneak away. 

Jean in his disguise began to case the mansion, entering a parlor with a cozy fire burning in the grate.

He began to search, for what he was not exactly sure. They were not thieves, so he ignored the expensive jewelry and other items, opening and closing drawers and picking up items and placing back exactly where he found them. It was only when he came across an antique cameo brooch did he realize he'd found something significant.

On the back of the brooch where one would normally find a jeweler's mark or an inscription if the piece had been a gift, was the same pentagram symbol etched into it.

 

For a moment he considered the dauugertype black and white framed portrait in a small casing. It was a woman, a beautiful woman if he was any judge of feminine allure. With high cheekbones characteristic of Camorri upper class, a perky nose, a full lips with her long hair piled up on top of her head. A hairstyle that had gone out of trendy fashion more than a decade ago. Unlike most cameos, this was not done in profile. 

As nice as the piece of jewelry was and as beautiful as the woman Jean still could not feeling that there was something off about it, that the eyes of the young woman had an old soul behind them. 

As unsettling as that might be, Jean was there for a reason and if they wanted to find out more about whoever had burnt that pentagram into the old cobbled stones of the square and had caused that young punk to spontaneously burst into flames; this was their only clue thus far.

 

Is it a coincidence or does it mean something more?

Jean considered himself a realist, pragmatic by nature, a slow and steady stalwart presence as compared to the burning flame that was his best friend and partner; as such, they made a good team. 

However, a little of Locke tended to go a long way; and he could not help but feel that seeing the appearance of that pentagram symbol here and once before near the square of the church were somehow linked. Just how this could be, he did not know; but he was reasonably certain that they were. He felt the cold metal of gold rub his palm as he clutched it.

Jean considered leaving it, but then decided he would take it. It was their only clue no matter how unsettling it made him feel.

Just then he heard someone moving about and made a quick but cautious exit, and headed back to the ballroom, where he hoped Locke was not getting into too much trouble.

 

***

 

The strains of the next dance had just begun swelling and dipping like the tides of the lagoon that surrounded Camorr. Locke Lamorra had always a fairly high opinion of himself and when it came to dancing he felt himself to be in the fair to excellent range. His dance partner was very good and where he faltered she was there to pick him up and coax him into the next measure. 

Their hostess had various current dances on planned for the masquerade ball one of which the required them to spin, step and exchange partners until at last, they ended up with their original partner. There had been other dances and other partners since then and he and Jean had gotten separated, but thus far Locke had seen or heard nothing to give him the impression that anyone suspected their presence.

Later in the evening with a nubile red-head draped in his lap, green eyes hazy with either not enough sleep, too much drink, or more likely some combination of both..

Locke was sitting on one of the damask couches, his fingers twisting through the strands of her hair. She had declared herself a distant cousin of the Baroness and said: “Do you know what?”

“What?”

“I find these things So boring! Yet Cousin Isabelle insists that I come. What a drag!”

“I feel your pain,” Locke replied.

“Oh, it's not painful, Sir. Speaking of which I know it's strictly against the rules to reveal our true names until the stroke of midnight and we all doff our masks, but come on, won't you tell me!”

“Vito Valente.” Locke replied.

She took a little hand-fan out of the pocket of her clutch purse strapped to her side and fanned herself for a moment. “Oh, come now, that cannot be your real name.”

Locke put on a practiced look of wounded dignity.

“Oh, very well, be mysterious. If that be the name you wish to go by, then so be it. I am Valentina” and I hate dressing up for these things. In fact, I loathe dressing up at all.”

“What would you rather be doing?” Oh, I don't know, Valentina replied with a small sigh. "I feel quite silly even saying this out loud, and I would never utter a word outside of confidence; but I feel I can trust you, Vito.”

Locke bent down and placed a few delicate kisses on her brow and lips. “Yes, Valentina, you can.”

“Well, Vito. May I call you Vito? Have you ever felt like perhaps one was born out of one's time? Or that perhaps one was meant to do other things?”

For the first time since this night began Locke felt that he could almost drop the facade of the character he had created for this night, but one of the most important rules of playing a confidence game or while conducting a covert intelligence gathering was to never to drop out of character. 

This girl was sweet and beautiful, and in some inexplicable manner reminded him a little bit of a younger version of Sabetha.

Locke shook his head and the momentary likeness was gone. He could not afford to continue that particular line of thought, mainly because it would be distracting from his current project and also because there was too much baggage where Sabetha was concerned. She was gone and there was nothing he could do about it.

“Vito? Are you okay?” Valentina asked.

“I'm fine. Go on.” Locke said. What other things do you want to do?”

“My father thinks I am not behaving like a proper girl when I say that I would much prefer to go climbing trees or go pheasant hunting in our private preserve with my brothers.”

Locke snorted. “I can imagine. What did you do?”

“For a while I tried to be what he wanted, but it never quite took. So, when I was caught sneaking out the window to go the docks, Father sent out his household guard to find me.”

“What then?” Locke's interest was piqued and not to mention a little surprised to find such a girl among the gilded birds of the courtier and nobles and wanted to keep her talking. The fact that she was pretty too, as well as smart, helped, too.

First he yelled; then he made me dress up like a proper lady and had cousin Isabelle insist I attend this ghastly masquerade ball. I do so hate these things. The collars are too tight, the trains are too long, and I'm constantly having to tug at the sleeves. “

“All things considered, It wasn't that bad.”

“Cousin, dear, I think corsets are the worst invention in the history of fashion,” remarked Valentina.

“Oh, the horror!” Locke exclaimed in commiseration, only half paying attention.

Valentina stopped fanning herself and glanced at him with a searching gaze, the wine fumes seemed to had vanished out of her system. “You know it's funny you should mention that.”

“Mention what?”

“I know you think I'm silly to carry on this way about fashion and strict parental figures, but I've been using my, shall we say, unconventional fashion sense to good use. Dressing up in boy's clothes and listening in when my father speaks with his investors and clients and other important people.”

Locke smiled at the girl's temerity and resourcefulness. “I don't know if I should be telling you this, but I feel like I should. From what I've heard, it's ghastly.”

“You can tell me. I'm all ears.”

“Well, it seems there have been rumors circulating around town, about eldritch sightings; such as sailors in the harbor seeing St Elmo's fire at dawn and dusk. Others say they have seen signs of the passing of,” Valentina dropped to her voice to a husky conspiratorial whisper, “Stone Men.”

“Stone Men?” Locke wondered aloud. He'd been expecting a great many things but “Stone Men” was not among them. “What does that mean?”

“I don't know,” Valentina replied, “It's what I've heard."

 

At that moment Jean came by his face flushed and said it was time to leave. “Vito, as I am the senior officer here, I am pulling rank and ordering you to leave now.”

“Who's this?” Valentina asked.

“My commanding officer,” Locke replied with a commendably straight face. “Alexander Germain.

“Valentina de Montague, twice removed.”

“A pleasure to meet you,” Jean replied.

“Oh, you are both naval officers!” Valentina exclaimed as she abruptly stood up and curtsied leaving Locke momentarily flat-footed. 

“My apologies, Sir. I did not mean to monopolize your subordinate all evening, but still, he was a most gracious and charming companion.”

“I am certain he was, my lady,” Jean replied. 

 

**  
Calo and Galdo acting as drivers complete with the hats met them out front and helped them into a hired carriage. Locke was still thinking about what he heard and learned from Valentina and he had not yet had time to compare notes with Jean.

“She was certainly pretty?” Jean remarked at one point on their way home, staring out the window and at the city as the sky began its chemical change for the night into day, seeing but not truly seeing the buildings, streets, canals, and people flash past.

“Who?”

“Oh, don't be dense, Locke. It does not suit you at all!”

“Valentina. I couldn't help but overhear what you were talking about towards the end there and it's got me worried.”

“You're always worried.”

He thought back to their first uncanny encounter with that street gang who had tried to ambush them topside in this same square only a half a week ago and the one poor scrawny kid who spontaneously burst into a pillar of flame. 

Ever since then Locke had not quite been able to rub that image out of his mind, no matter how hard he tried. He had wanted very badly to dismiss it; to laugh it off and think no more of it. 

 

Then he albeit with prodding from Jean, had gone down to the shipyards and had seen with his own eyes, the eldritch fires burning like the clouds were on fire on the billowing sails of the ships. 

 

“Yes, but within reason. Did you learn anything about that supernatural symbol?"

"No but I heard quite a bit about Stone Men?"

"Stone Men"? Calo asked.

Galdo kept driving, but he looked apprehensive as well.

He had sent out the twins to try and discover if the mysterious fires were, in fact, the result of more mundane causes, such as say, arson or an accident. They had returned from their scouting trip say they had seen small groups of burly men with glassy looks in their eyes setting the fires.

When Jean had demanded if they had been spotted both the twins had worn identical grins on their faces, and a pensive look on their faces. 

“It's probably all just nonsense, I mean really, the only Stone Men we've ever seen are the stone saints and an assortment of gargoyles, and unless somebody has discovered magic capable of bringing stone to life;” Locke shrugged his supple slender shoulders. “It's all just hocus-pocus and fear-mongering_probably done for monetary gain. I wouldn't put much stock in it."

“Do you really believe that?” Jean asked.

“I do.”

“Let's hope you're right,” Jean griped. 

“I usually am.” Locke grinned and mock-punched Jean in the shoulder.

“That's what worries me the most.” Jean frowned and gritted his teeth, willing to let it go; for now.  
**

Twilight had just fallen and the harbor-side lights had been lit by the candle-bearers who performing their task with the bleary-eyed gaze of sleep-walkers; the city guards whose responsibility was to maintain security were scattered around watching the comings and goings of the inhabitants, merchants, sailor, harbor-side taverns, and others. Those who were not inside or upon the decks of ships docked were dicing and gambling.

 

Which is why nobody noticed a pair of identical shadows dart from one shadowed nook to another with apprehension and equal parts wariness etched into their brows. 

They might have preferred to ditch the hired coach and horses to the small stable from which they had been ah 'borrowed; for the night that the others had been attending the masquerade ball and go out for some fun of their own. But, not reconnaissance it was; so here they were.

The twins mission was just a little recon as Locke had explained it, just to poke around and see if they could find some rational cause for those fires which had made it look as if the clouds and the sails of the ships had been set aflame.

The eldritch fires which had not too long ago had the city buzzing were no longer in evidence. 

They crouched down exchanging significant glances as they did so. Galdo silently signaled that he could have sworn that they were being watched. Calo shook his head and shivered and not from the cold; because as much as he would care not to admit it he, too, felt as if unseen eyes were tracking their progress.

Galdo made a move to remove the crossbows that hey had stashed underneath the coach's seats just in case, while Calo fingered the hilt of the dagger in his pocket. Neither of them believed in the supernatural thinking it so much hocus-pocus but each had to admit, if only to themselves, but all this talk about the supernatural had them on edge. The eerie hush that had fallen over the harbor district was not helping matters either. “Let's go. There's nothing more we can do here, anyway.”

 

At that moment a tall, hooded figure emerged out a white mist. He hunched over as he walked and appeared to proceed carefully, but unerringly towards their chosen place of concealment Galdo was almost a heartbeat away from feathering the bastard's chest with a black-and-white tipped arrow.

“Boys, the cloaked man called out to them. There's no reason to hide I can see better in the dark than most men and I merely wish to give you both something.”

“What the hell are you talking about!” they called out.

“Why should we? What's in it for us?”

“Does something have to be?” the hooded man asked.

“Well that's the way it works,” Galdo replied as he stepped out with Calo following soon after.

“All I want from you both is to deliver a letter to a certain person of your acquaintance. From then we part ways..”

“Why,” Calo asked with angrily.

“Yeah, if this letter is so dang important why don't you just mail it as normal people do?”

“Ah, an excellent question,” the man chuckled, the action turning into a dry racking cough. When he had recovered his wind the stranger replied. “For a number of reasons and some that I am not at liberty to go into. And, for all our sakes deliver the letter, and I stress this is of utmost importance: do not, I repeat do not, under any circumstances open the letter it safely reaches its intended recipient.”

“Why ever not?” Galdo his curiosity peaking despite his uneasiness about this encounter.

“I could tell its because of the unfortunate tendency of curiosity leading to the untimely demise of felines.”

“That's not the real reason?” Calo demanded. 

 

“No, trouble is brewing and it will require shall we say, services that cannot be found elsewhere.”

 

“We don't think this is a good idea. I mean this 'letter' of yours could be a poison pen,” Galdo stated.

 

“Yeah, Yeah, I heard that gang that ambushed us not too long ago were desperate enough to resort to mixing up some kind of white powder that can mess you up something fierce if it gets in your eyes or mouth or direct skin contact,” Calo stated.

“No, no, nothing like that!”

Galdo arched an eyebrow and shuffled his feet on the wet dank ground, thinking the matter over. He looked to his twin and saw their doubt and not a little apprehension. “If we do this, and we're not pretending that will, it won't hurt anyone we care about?” 

“No, the choice is always of utmost importance in matters such as this.”

“Could you be any more cryptic” Caldo griped.

“I could but that would not be too the point,” the stranger replied. “Well, will you deliver my letter?”

“Yeah, we guess so,” Galdo finally agreed. “But why us?”

 

“The stranger reached into the pockets of his cloak and withdrew a fancy sealed letter tube, the kind that Father Chains had once taught them that royal couriers used when on official business in neighboring cities.

“Okay, but how will you if it gets there?” Galdo asked.

“Galdo, look at the note. It's addressed to Locke!”

“Indeed!”

Galdo attempting to hand the seal back to the stranger as if it were a venomous snake.

“I mean, you and your associates no harm, truly. It is of utmost importance that it gets to him and your other friend unopened or the consequences will be dire indeed if anyone dares to do so”

With that said the stranger pulled the folds of his cloak tighter around his lanky frame and disappeared into the Canmori night and the shadows.

******

Needless to say, the twins had taken the warning seriously enough to rush back home immediately. and handed Locke the sealed envelope.

“Well, are you going to open it or not?” Jean demanded after a protracted silence.

“It might be sealed with poison?

“Oh for the sake of a Name of a Name! Open it already. I don't think the number of people you've pissed off, or made enemies would go to such lengths. And as for the ones that to do, subtlety is in their nature.”

“Nazca's father? Or maybe Sabetha?”

“She doesn't hate you, to stay mad at you that long to do something like this.” Jean said confidently. “Well, Nazca maybe, but not Sabetha.”

Locke nodded and went over to a desk piled high with miscellaneous bric-a brack and took an ivory-handled opener and made a quick slit along the edge of the envelope.,

He withdrew two sheets of vellum written on with a delicate script. He did not recognize the handwriting.

 

_“To Whom it May Concern,_

_“Oh, perhaps we should be less formal, and simply address you by your true names? To the infamous Locke Lamorra and Jean Tannen, enclosed within these pages I offer the two of you both a challenge of a lifetime and entreaty._

_As you may or may not be aware there are currents within currents, wheels within wheels at work in this city of ours. Not all of these are apparent on the surface or can easily be explained away as the work of individuals or cabals or what have you._

_No, if you have been down to the docks and have seen the illuminations at night that many have come to refer to as St. Elmo's Fire, then you know of what I speak without further ado._

_If you are not then the fires are a portent. Not that long ago a man spontaneously combusted right before your very eyes. I mention this not to lend credence to the rumors circulating, or to disprove them, but merely as a matter of fact. All of these things are connected, and the two of you have a part to play in all of this, for good or ill._

_To that end I entreat to come to below to the directions printed on the back of this missive at the appointed time; it might be the saving or the dooming of as all. With hope and misgivings in equal measure, Please come._

“Are we going?” Locke asked.

“Are you effing out of your mind? Are we going!” Jean exclaimed, throwing his hands up in the air in sheer frustration and not a little anger. 

“Oh, the hell with it. I should know better by now, then to try to talk you out of doing anything fool-hardy, dangerous or likely to get us all killed, especially when you've got 'that' look in your eye!”

“Okay, than we're going.”

“But not before we've prepared for the worst,” Jean insisted.

“Why do you always think the worst will happen?”

“Why do you never consider the consequences?

“Where's the fun in that?” Locke riposted with an eager glint in his eyes; a look which could bode fair for their chances or ill, one which Jean Tannen was extremely familiar with; and had often found himself unable to resist. 

A look that he knew often seemed like an inexorable as the tide as almost but not quite able to reason out of beating up against the shore as the waves of lagoon waters that lapped at Camorr's boundaries. 

Jean had stopped wondering long ago how any one person could contain so many emotional surges, so many subtfurgues, and masks, but he was willing to let that slide for the nonce and get down to the business at hand; rapidly running his mind over the practical tools that would be required for such an excursion into Camorr's catacombs.

 

“Hell! We'll need to change into workman clothes, perhaps weapons, tools, torches, we've got some lamp oil around here?” ...Jean rambled as he raced around collecting supplies. 

 

Locke sat on the table for a while listening to Jean list off items for a bit and then went to help.

 

*****

Elsewhere

 

The chamber is concave rather than round and the walls are stone, she might have concerned herself with decorating at one point but gave it up a while ago. The chamber is meant to be utilitarian and serve her purposes-as a means of gauging and assessing the goings on in the world above her subterranean domain. 

There is basin resting in a naturally occurring depression in the rock of the floor. Within that depression lies a pool; swirling with water; used for scrying and often as a window into other places, even other times.

The past is, particularly her own is her mind. A man claiming to be a prophet of sorts came to her when she had been a lonely misunderstood child in a well-to-do household. Her parents were social climbers, bankers, hedge fund managers, that sort of thing. She had other siblings, all more or less growing up to be as ambitious and daring as their parents. 

She had long brown hair, doe-like eyes, and slender white shoulders. As the youngest of a large baronial family, she was well-cared for, well brought up, but then overlooked. Oh, it was not neglect, but all the same, Irene often felt that there was something profoundly lacking in her life. The He came.

Where he came from and who he was she had never quite known, nor was he forthcoming about the matter. He took her in hand, and with he took those silvery sharp teeth he took a bit out of her heart; a hole that he filled with his presence. His love, as warped as it sometimes seemed, changed her life forever.

As she idly dipped her hand into the swirling waters of the scrying pool she wondered if she had known then what she now knew if she would have been so willing to go with the man who called himself the Prophet had preached the value of deception.

Still he had shown her things that most in her old world would have decried as superstition, things 

"Do you want the truth or something beautiful? I am happy to oblige you, so just close your eyes and make believe. So I spit out lies aimed to soothe.” Did he ever want me for me?” she wondered aloud.

She thought back to the times they had spent in the sunlight working together on the vineyards of the small plantation that had seen better days, outside the city limits. The way the sun had once turned the white skin on her hands, wrists, and forearms a bronze tinge that her lily-white skin had never had naturally.

The grapes they had turned to wine in spring, summer, and then after the work was done, he had helped her with learning the fantastic ins-outs of managing the estate. 

His own was ivory and she had fallen in love with his outward appearance much she had with ho he had been on the inside. His honeyed voice and the forbidden eldritch incantations in the old book had attracted and drawn her to him like the proverbial moth to a flame.

The book that had been the source of the power he commanded was large and had a rusty brown binding; a book that, had it been discovered by the authorities most likely should have been burnt long ago; but for some reason had not been. 

He was gone now, gone without a trace. In the first blush of his leaving her, she had been angry, and confused; believing with the naive trust of the young girl she had once been that his seeking her out--teaching her his eldritch magic, meant that she meant more to him than simply another protege; or worse yet, a tool to be used and then discarded. That he cared for her in the mage's own aloof but gruff manner. Well, if he had, it was over now.

Enough of brooding over the past, she had best get down to the business at hand, she decided and began intoning the incantation that would bring those who would willingly or not would bring her long-term plans to fruition.

" Angels watching over me with smiles upon their face  
Coz I have made it through this far in an unforgiving place

It feels sometimes this hill's too steep for a girl like me to climb  
But I must knock those thoughts right down I'll do it in my own time

I tell you what (I tell you what)  
What I have found (What I have found)  
That I'm no fool (That I'm no fool)  
I'm just upside down (Just upside down)

Ain't got no cares (Ain't got no cares)  
I ain't got no rules (Ain't got no rules)  
I think I like it. Know I that I do.”  
Living upside down (Living upside down)” 

 

*******

Locke held the torch in his left hand with a sword at one hip held loosely in the sheath of a sword belt around his waist. The cavorting shadows and uncertain footing made the shadows cavort crazily along the bare stone walls. 

He tried to avoid glancing into the dark alcoves where the keepers of the Iglesia de Las Lagrimas had laid to rest the mortal remains of the various bygone saints and priests who had once served her. Some, he noticed was clad in the tatters of rich clothes, armor, and jewelry, Some, but not all had gone to rags and rust; Jean remarked that they had probably once been retainers for nobles who had served in the Camorri wars. 

At one point in their path they came across a place were a steadily flowing river eddied out of the rocks, braced on either side by wooden bulwarks, however, the moment Locke put a foot on it, his foot sunk into it: the wood had rotted through. He did care one bit for wading through that dark rushing water. 

According to the map they would have to cross or go way out of the direct route. Locke eyed it not with some distaste. 

It was deep and strong and the far edge was shadowed in a trailer of mist. It was most definitely his overactive imagination at work when he could have sworn that he heard disembodied voices calling his name, telling him to cross over to the other side, faint, and just a bit eerie. He tried to ignore them as best he could.

"Can't we go around this?"

"I don't see how. Wait a minute. I have an idea," Jean said as he darted out of the light cast by Locke's torch his rapid movements sending his shadow cavorting along the walls and dank floor. When he came back he had a couple of metal bars cradled in his arms. "I came across these a while back, figured they might come in handy. Put the torches down on their side or brace them in the ground and help me lay them down."

Locke did so, "We should probably cross over one at a time."

"You go first," Jean stated.

"Why? This was your idea."

"You're smaller."

Locke picked up his torch and then crossed over, and then Jean did so.

 

Should we leave those there?"

"I figure, we might need them when we come back this way."

"I guess so." On the other hand, hand yours to me, and then I'll pass them to you." 

Locke did so and carefully made the crossing trying to ignoring the sound of dark churning water below and to either side of him. It might have been his imagination but he could have sworn that he heard ghostly voices in the crouching shadows all around him. 

At one point during the crossing he made the mistake of looking down into the darkling water and he had the instant sensation that it was rushing up at him and a ghostly emphermal fingers were reaching up to clutch at his innards; the cold and the dark's hopeless desperate longing for heat and the light.

As soon as he completes his crossing he turned and waited for Jean.

Jean held both torches stuffed the butt end of the torches into his wide belt so that he could use his hands to balance and then crossed the wooden planks creaking under his weight. He clenched his teeth and concentrated on putting one foot in front of another. 

At one point the wooden hoardings had partially rotted through and there was a momentary concern that would become stuck, but he managed to pull through and make it to the other side.

Locke reached and helped over to the relative safety, and took his torch back more relieved than he cared to admit that they had made it, and they still had light. The had brought more feel in case their first pairs ran out, but it did not mean he cared to wander around down here without light.

Locke tried not to allow his wild imagination to get out of hand, Their situation was dire enough. 

He held the light of the torch far enough away so that he could study the markings on the back of the letter they'd been sent; the map was old, very old, but it still it had gotten them this far.

 

****  
Encounter with Our Lady of the Underground

“I hate this! How much farther do we have to go?” Locke griped.

Jean bent his head to consult the map while moisture in the air made the clothes stick to bodies like a second skin and with the ripples, new stenches arose from the disturbed sewer water. Saliva filled his mouth prelude to a bout of nausea. He clenched his fists around the hilt of his own weapon in his free hand and fought it down. “Not much further, I think. In fact, I think it's just through yonder archway.”

Locke regarded the archway and said I hope so. Let's go.”

 

****

They stepped through the archway and found themselves in a high-ceilinged stone chamber which was cracked and pitted as much from the dampness of the underground chambers and tunnels and from the restless motion of the tides and occasional earth tremors. 

It would appear that those who now call this land below the hustle and bustle of Camorr top-side now call home have made more than passing attempts to patch the larger cracks and uneven zig-zags in the walls and floors. 

Still, what stands out to Jean is the fact near where the tall woman had been seated when they arrived there is a marble font or table that would not have been out of place in a workshop of a master mason. 

Jean should know, he'd once spent several months undercover for the heist of an artisan with ambitions who was hoping that his work would catch the attention of a Camorri noble would win himself lucrative patronage. It had not quite worked out as that artisan had hoped, but he had taught Jean the rudiments of quality stone-work and patience.  
“  
She reaches out, curling long, elegant fingers around the cold stone arms of the improvised throne-chair arms, and though she hisses out low through his teeth when he finds the sting of iron waiting for him, he does not look away.  
She is a looming figure in the shadows, a slash of moonlight thrown across her face illuminating the smirk on her high-boned face.

“So, glad you both could make it,” she purred.

“Who the hell are you? And what the hell do you want with us?” Jean demanded.

She shrugged, “I want many things: freedom from this underground prison, revenge on the updwellers.”

“Revenge? For what?” Jean asked.

“Did they get to exchange a walk-on part for a lead role in the war?” How I wish you were. We're just two lost souls treading over the same old ground year after year. How I wish you were here.”

You have no power over me, us- I mean, us,” Locke stammered trying not to let his nervousness show on his face.

“Oh, let us not be so hasty, young man,” she whispers and from the silibant cadence of it, Locke could have sworn it might have belonged to a cat or perhaps a snake.

“After all, I've been expecting you for a very long time.”

“What the hell?” Jean demanded.

“I mean, dear boy, that I have foreseen that this meeting would take place...” she replied with the kind of queenly langour that both had only ever seen from a distance when they had been casing noble estates and royal places. While she drew out of the ticking heartbeats of their first face-to-face encounter she stroke the arm of the dais-like throne as she regarded them. “By means of certain signs in fire and water.”

 

“Are you certain of that?” Locke whispers, just to see the way that the Lady's eyes narrowed - how as he stepped closer until his narrow hips are pressed up against the edge of the raised dais.

“Of course I am, Locke, dear boy,” she replied. “You have seen for yourself the eldritch fire in the sky over the harbor and other portents, did you not?”

 

Locke and Jean nodded not wanting to commit to anything at this early stage nor did they wish to make the mistake of assuming that this mysterious woman was simply insane and be done with it. She obviously wanted something from them, or why else go to all this elaborate subterfuge?

 

“I wish I could claim that those were all my doing,” she smiled and it was vulpine grin that would not have been out of place on a female fox, but then the agitated drumming of her fingernails on the marble armrest of the high-backed throne came to a halt; taking on a more pleasant cast. 

“No?” Jean demanded.

She reached up to run her hands through her raven-black hair and she offered them another smile; much more pleasant. “No, Mr. Tannen, you see, I will let you in on a little-known secret about magic, well, two or three actually: one magic is fickle and unpredictable. Two: energy is energy whether generated by science or sorcery and three it can have unintended consequences.”

“What's that got to do with us?”

 

“I require your assistance in the manner of exacting my revenge on the surface-dwellers, willingly or not; the choice is yours.”

“Not a hell of a chance, Lady!” Jean exclaimed and Locke echoed him.

 

“Just think about it, will you. I could compel you, force you into satisfying my every whim; but where's the fun in that?” Revenge can be sweet and you two, what your reputation and skill set; we could just a formidable team.”

 

Locke Lamora exchanged a significant glance with Jean and a barely perceptible nod and then replied.  
“No.”

 

“Alas, that is really too bad, I had hoped that I would not have to force you, but have it your way.

 

She reached into the folds of her ash grey robes and withdrew a shining bauble, flickering the inconstant light of the torches in their sconces in the stone walls. 

Distance made it seem bigger and then smaller; it was difficult to tell for certain., dangling casually from her left hand. Much like a crystal it caught the light refracted it back and made it shimmer with gold, green, blue, red and yellow.

It was mesmerizing, and it was difficult to look away from it. Both Locke and Jean steeled themselves to do bending all of their will to do so. It was difficult and Locke found his breath coming in short statacco bursts, his heart pumping and his lungs straining to draw in much-needed air.

It took almost everything he had but when at last he was able to keep his eyes off the pendulum and the beautiful woman wielding it; it was with an almost audible snap.

Jean experienced a similar problem almost to the point where he was actually crying salty crocodile tears. 

“Humph, well, I must say that I had not expected this.”

Jean gasped out. “No more games. Either let us go or...”

“Or else, else, I will think of something.”

“Very well,” she replied. “I guess we will have to resort to force.” With another flick of her wrist  
she summoned her minions, the Stone Men.

Stone Men was an apt name for the figures who were even now shambling out of the shadows and the mist of an adjoining underground chamber. Some were tall and sloop-shouldered with muscles rippling under the thin dun-colored shirts and black slacks. 

Others were tall and lanky with tightly stretched sinews rather than burly. Still, others were short and all, without exception, had a look in their eyes that gave them the qualities of stone; hence the name. 

“What the hell are those things!” Locke exclaimed.

“Those would appear to be the Stone Men.” Jean replied.

“I can see that.”

“Then why did you ask?”

“Jean, this is not the time for one of your roundabout lectures.”

“Do you like them? Personally, I think they could use a lot more refining,” The Lady opined from where she reclined on her throne. “But like any art, clay and stone and other mediums, it must be refined.”

“Yeah, I can see that they have, ah, a lot of rough edges,” Locke deadpanned, as much for something to say as to stall for time.

“Well, they do provide some company, the Stone Men, well what they lack in conversational skills, I suppose they make up for in brute strength.”

Jean withdrew his own weapon, a mace, and Locke drew his longsword from its scabbard, ready to fight,  
hoping that fighting creatures created by magic would somehow be easier than fighting magic itself.

They came in a pack, rushing towards them like the lemmings he'd once seen as a boy on the docks of Canmor, except this were much, much bigger and much stronger. When they came within striking distance Jean heaved and swung with all of his weight and strength behind the blow, sending chips and, and the stone chamber resounded with a hollow cracking sound. 

It was then that Locke noticed with a thud to his heart that the symbol branded onto their skin was a match to the pentagram symbol they had seen on the cameo brooch Jean had found in the estate of Lady Montague in what a seemed so long ago. That brooch was still nestled inside Jean's duffel bag. Surely that could not have been a coincidence?

Locke shook his head and decided he could not afford to get distracted and parried and lunged the blows aimed at him by the Stone Man's fists and cudgels. 

At one point, Jean stumbled and almost lost his balance, but quickly regained it. “Seven Hells!” Locke dodged and darted his lean build and sinewy strength allowing him to move much more quickly than the plodding opponents. 

He'd decided that he'd had enough. Fighting these Stone Men was akin to a frustrated mason hitting at a stone wall repeatedly with a sledge-hammer; time to take the fight straight to their mistress, as it were.

He made a run for the dais where the raven-haired stood casually dangling the crystal pendant in one hand; her gaze hungry and intent. He crashed into her and drove her to the ground, standing over her with his drawn sword. “No more of this. We are so done here!

While he was doing this Jean managed to break through and came up to join him. 

“I'm no expert but I think we should just break the cursed thing.”

“I agree.”

“No, no!” she said.

“Care to do the honors, Jean?” Locke asked..

“With pleasure,” Jean replied and suiting thought to the action brought his mace crashing down on the crystal pendant. 

 

The smashed shards of the crystal inexplicably enough came off a mixed aroma of incense and nightshade. By cutting the invisible strings of the Stone Men they lay in a sprawled heap on the ground, bits, and pieces of rubble flying everywhere. “Well, she did say that magic has unintended consequences,” Locke remarked in an off-hand manner. 

“Don't even start, Locke,” Jean griped.

She sat upon and regarded them with a much less predatory and dangerous glint in her eyes.

“So what do we do with her?” Jean asked.

“Kill her?” Locke opined.

“No, no, I think that's why she's expecting us to do. And I for one, don't think that should be the easy way out.”

“Then we take her with us and hand her over to the authorities.”

 

“Fine, Jean reached up and hefted her up onto his shoulder, telling her as he did so. “No funny business, and if any magical power yet remains to you; he paused, and added with steel in his face, “Don't even think of using it on us. You got it?”

“I got it,” she replied and her eyes rolled back in her head and she lost consciousness.

 

“Let's get the hell out of here,” Locke stated.

******

 

Aftermath

What could have been hours or even days later; time in the catacombs seemed to pass ever so slowly, Jean and Locke and Jean staggered out onto the surface with an unconscious Lady over Jean's shoulder.

 

The twins were still there, restless and a little punch happy, and luckily sitting around the brazier they had brought along as much for light as for heat. Their bows that Locke had agreed to let them have for protection resting on an oiled tarp.

Their hair was disheveled and their eyes were dilated. "You're alive," Calo said.

"I would not have wagered on it," Galdo added.

"You owe, so pay up." the other Sanzo twin remarked.

"Fine, Fine, I will pay later."

A blur of movement out of the corner of his and suddenly an armful had rushed up to Locke and threw her arms around him and embraced him as if she would never let go. 

"Oh, Oh, you're alive and had thought that such terrible things had happened to you!" Valentina gasped out, 

Her hair was bound up underneath a hat into a messy braid.

Valentina was dressed in what she must have thought was appropriate adventuring clothing. She wore leather boots that looked brand new, a leather jacket over a white frilly blouse with lace at the sleeves and down the neck; and a pair of black trousers. 

"Oh my word! I cannot believe my eyes!" Valentina exclaimed.

"What the hell are you talking about?" griped Jean who had been moving the twins' longbows in order to make room for the unconscious woman on the tarp.

Somehow shed of the glamour of being under the malign influence of the now destroyed Eldren Artifact she did not look as threatening or as bloodthirsty as she had before. Instead, she looked, not peaceful, but resigned.

"Valentina left Locke's side and crouched down, gesturing to the older woman. "We had given her up for dead, but she's quite obviously not dead. Is she dead?"

"No, not yet," Jean replied.

"It's cousin, Irene," Valentine, "albeit a distant cousin once removed."

"Are you sure about that," Locke asked.

"Of course, Vito, Mr. St. Germain. Although, Cousin Isabelle will be most disconcerted to learn that Irene is not dead. It will bring great unrest to our family's financial concerns."

Locke and Jean exchanged meaningful glances with each other, recalling that those had been the names they had given at Isabelle de Montague's masquerade ball. It seemed like ages ago.

"What happened down there?" Galdo asked with concern etched into his face.

"You really don't want to know," Jean replied. "But right now we need to get the hell out of here before sun-up and the authorities or anyone else begin to sniff around."

"Agreed," Locke replied. "I don't fancy have to explain to the authorities, especially I don't have any better understanding of the magic involved, and we lived through it!"

What do we do now?" Caldo asked, wondering when this was all over if he might ask the young lady out on a date, although since most of what the twins did on their downtime was always spent together; he figured they might have to share and if she'd be willing to do so. 

“Do we do the responsible thing and report this to the proper authorities?” Locke asked.

“Who would in their effing right mind even believe any of this really happened?” Jean retorted. He lay the unconscious body of the woman on the 

 

“I'm kind of disappointed that we had to destroy the Eldern artifact. I would have liked to examine it more closely,” Locke said.

Jean paused and swallowed, before adding, “You gotta be effing kidding me!” You saw those effing things come to life, you saw what she'd done them. Would you really want to see what else might have come of that!”

“No,"

There was a long pause and a white mist of vapor accompanied the exhaled breath. Locke wrapped his arms around his torso-because it was chilly down below ground and neither of their eyes had accustomed to the change in the light of day or the change in temperature above ground. 

Locke paused and tugged Jean over to him, who only put up a token resistance, then went with the flow, thinking back to his earlier thought that Locke Lamorra was like the tide about as irresistible- not because he'd got the kind of looks women swoon for, because there's 'that', but also he's just Locke.

Locke, for his part, hugged Jean to him as if he'd never let go, planting a kiss on the dome of Jean's head and then released him. 

“Yes, You're right, I don't know what came over me. I do know that I can be a royal pain in the ass, hell of a lot.... and it's not easy putting up with me.”

“What was that for?” Jean asked. “Not that I can fault you for your impeccable logic on you being a major pain in the ass."

“Love you, too, Jean, and you're right we're better off with Eldren artifact destroyed.”

"All the same I got the distinct impression that we could have a real big Score if we'd recovered the Eldren Artifact to the Camorri Museum of Natural History."

"No, no, and once more means no," Jean stated implacable as ever. I hate to break this to you, Locke, but not everything has to be about the Big Score."

Jean shuddered as he held his hands up to his face and blew through his fingers, his exhaled breathe puffing in a white vapor. 

Considering that it was the beginning of winter in Camor being above ground and alive and breathing at all, not to mention with all of their limbs intact, hell, Jean would take a little nippy over stiff and cold any day. 

Jean shivered and then considered if he' should do what he'd been wanting to do for a very long time, balancing it on a knife's edge of holding back; then finally giving in. Then he pulled Locke to him and kissed him; they stood locked together like that until the first rays of the rising sun had just begun to appear to the east.

 

"Young lady, you best come with us. Caldo and Galdo, help the young lady."

"I can take care of myself!" Valentina exclaimed indignantly.

"I'm sure you can, but we need to move quickly," Jean replied.

Suitng thought to action, the small party left the opening to the catacombs, picking up their belongings, blowing out the remains of the twin's small fire and hiding all traces that they had ever been there.


End file.
